


Baring His Secrets

by Evil_Little_Dog



Series: Little Things [172]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Community: fma_fic_contest, Gen, Missing Scene, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3559013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Edward has something to say. <br/>Disclaimer: If I owned anything to do with this besides some toys…Um, there’d have been more kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baring His Secrets

Edward had been biding his time about telling them. It hadn’t seemed right the first few weeks after Alphonse and he had returned to Risembool. They needed time to settle in. Besides, how was he supposed to bring it up? “Oh, I nearly died up in Baschool, can you pass the sausage?” Certainly wasn’t dinner conversation, or something to talk about while gathering eggs, or walking to town, or while helping out with whatever the old hag had planned for the day. 

He knew he had to say something, sometime. Eventually, _hopefully_ , Winry would want to look at his chest (Edward knew he wanted to look at hers). He’d rather her know about the new scars before hand. If she saw them unprepared, Edward knew she’d make a fuss, and then Alphonse and Pinako would wonder what was going on, and he’d rather not be caught like that in what might’ve been a _good_ memory. 

The temperatures in Risembool were never constant in the spring, and that, more than anything, prompted Edward to speak. The twinges from various injuries during a particularly harsh temperature drop put him in a bad mood. Or, as Winry had told him earlier in the day, “You’re awfully grouchy,” before offering a pair of hot compresses for his shoulder and leg. Those were the big wounds she knew about. Why would she suspect more? He’d managed to keep from removing his shirt when she’d checked over his automail before the Promised Day. His shirt didn’t need to come off for Winry to work on his leg. Not even Alphonse knew about the wound Kimblee had given Edward in Baschool. Edward dreaded baring the scars the impalement left behind. Still, the longer he waited, the worse the shock and anger at him not saying sooner would be. So, the night of the cold fog, when the wounds he’d healed by alchemy ached, he knew he had to speak up. 

“I have something to show you,” he said, after supper’s leftovers were put away and the dishes dried next to the sink. “You’re all going to be pissed.” At that remark, Pinako’s eyebrows shot up, and Winry and Alphonse both frowned. “But it’s over and done with.” As he spoke, Edward unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it over the back of the couch. He shivered at the slap of cold air against his flesh, but pulled his tank top over his head. For a split second, he used it to hide the scar, then wadded it up and tossed it aside, baring his torso for them to see. 

The warmth from the fire behind him caressed his bare skin, but gooseflesh still marched over his arms. He didn’t look at any of them, keeping his eyes trained on a spot on the wall. Ought to paint over that. And jerked, when a pair of cool fingers touched the scar. “Al?” 

“What…how did this happen?” Alphonse asked sharply. 

Winry stood on Edward’s other side, looking at his back. Out of the corner of his eye, Edward glimpsed her catching her lip between her teeth as she straightened. He took a deep breath in preparation to answering. “It was a fight with Kimblee.” Fisting his hands at his side kept him from slapping at Alphonse’s poking fingers. “I’m all right now, but it _hurts_ , Al, when it’s cold.” 

“Like your shoulder and leg,” Pinako said, from where she still sat in her chair. 

“Yeah.” Edward relaxed a bit when Alphonse dropped his hands away, but Winry was still there next to him. She hadn’t touched yet, but he thought she might, and prepared himself. When she gathered up his shirts and handed them back to him, he blinked a couple of times. “Winry?” 

“Put those back on, Ed. I’ll get you some hot water bottles,” she said, and left the room. 

That really hadn’t been what Edward had expected. Any more than Alphonse settling down with a scowl on his face. Winry returned, and they all listened to the Gold Star Theatre show on the radio until it was time to go to bed. 

Alphonse waited until he closed the door to the room they shared before turning to Edward. “You used alchemy to heal that wound.” 

“There was no other way to stop the blood.” 

“You’re not a healing alchemist.” 

“I’m a scientist, aren’t I? I have studied the human body.” Enough to figure out what they needed to try and bring Mom back to life. “I’m okay now, Al.” He toed off his shoes. “I figured Winry’d be the one freaking out, not you.” Raising his eyes to meet Alphonse’s, Edward scowled. “I’m alive, Al. Stop looking at me like that.” 

“What did you trade, Ed?” Alphonse’s voice dropped to a bare whisper. 

“Nothing.” Edward started to undress. Nothing he’d miss, at any rate. A couple of years off the end of his life? Who’d even know? How would he? 

“Brother.”

“Al, please. Let it be.” He pulled on the shorts he slept in, and threw back the covers to the bed, wishing he’d gotten a few more hot water bottles to sleep with. Or Winry. No, not thinking about Winry now. That way led to stupid teenage hormonal happenings. Why wasn’t she upset, anyway? Maybe because he came back alive. _Damn it._ He should _not_ think about Winry before bed. “It’s time for sleep, Al. I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long time.” Maybe that’s what he should’ve said all along, because Alphonse sighed, and curled up in his own bed. It didn’t take long for his breathing to even out, and his body relaxed into sleep.

Edward grunted under his breath. Good for one of them. He climbed out of bed, making sure to tuck his feet into his slippers so the automail wouldn’t boom on the floor. He’d be spending the next half-hour in the bathroom, trying to get the images of a bare, naked Winry out of his mind. 


End file.
